Free Snowflake Kisses by Marianne Evans Page A

doubt, formed layers against his words and an intense longing struck home in Vanessa’s spirit. A love like that shared by Peter and Alexa remained the dream of her heart, and Jackson captivated her, making the dream seem attainable.
    At the same time, she knew she had to tread carefully around his battered heart. A quandary brewed as to what she should—or shouldn’t—say about her introduction to Tamara. She was curious about what drove the woman, yes, but at the same time there were undiscovered layers to the woman which Vanessa refused to ignore. Uncovering those mysteries just might help Jackson move beyond his past and help Vanessa secure a clear pathway to his heart, not to mention help Tamara work through some obviously difficult issues.
    While she pondered, they ate, and Vanessa warmed her hands around her tea mug. In the end, she opted to wait on telling Jackson about her meeting with Tamara. After all, nothing might come of it. Tamara might reject Vanessa’s offer. No need to disturb the waters any further at this point. The meeting with Tamara had been nothing more than happenstance.
    God-incidence, one might say.
    “Are you still with me, Vannie?”
    Jackson’s summons roused her from her thoughts. They left the pub and Jackson attempted to hail a cab along increasingly empty streets. Fat, tumbling snowflakes continued to paint the world in purest white as a stilling hush built through the air. Traffic gradually quieted; fewer and fewer people strolled past.
    “Is everything OK? You got really quiet in there.”
    “Yes. Sorry. Afraid I drifted for a moment.”
    “Perhaps I can bring you back to the here and now?”
    Before she could answer, before she could blink or think or move, Jackson moved her to a quiet corner of the building, which was bathed by nothing but a black velvet night, buttery lamplight and a sparkling, twirling snowfall. He launched into a kiss so sweet, so evocatively soft and spontaneous it took her under before she ever knew what hit. Her surprised, pleasured exclamation cut the still air. Snowflakes danced all around, moist and soft, cooling her flushed skin, landing on her lashes, her cheeks, her hair. Oh, but he tasted delicious—lips tanged by spice, mouth moving reverent and smooth against hers, warm energy a flood that affirmed passion and stirred a love that shifted her entire axis.
    “It’s not 135 meters,” he murmured at last, “but certainly just as memorable.”
    Breathless, her heart now sealed, Vanessa lifted a trembling hand to stroke the strong, square line of his chin. “Furthermore, what a lovely end to a perfect evening.”
    She met his smoky gaze and his fingers worked tenderly through her hair. All the while, Vanessa tried hard to rebuke a sense of guilt and uncertainty about what was to come.
     
     
     
     

8
     
    A few days later, Jackson sat behind monitor number four of the freshly installed master security console at Harrods. It was just after noon, and he couldn’t believe what he saw on the screen overlooking The Tea Room, an eatery located on the second floor of the department store. Vanessa was being escorted to a small corner table—with Tamara at her side. Jackson leaned forward, peering ahead, his pulse pounding.
    Yep. No mistake. Vanessa was about to break bread with Tamara McKenna.
    Storm-driven heat swept in a flash-flood through his system. Jackson watched the maître d’ settle the women and extend menus which they perused at once. Soon they unfolded napkins and appeared to carry on an amiable conversation. Grinding his teeth, issuing a low, rumbling growl, he circled his stiff neck and rolled away tight kinks with the press of his fingertips.
    Had Tamara maneuvered her way into an introduction following the Christmas party? Was she moving in for some form of exploitative “Colby family” kill-shot with regard to his reputation and disrupt further work with the firm? In the face of Tamara’s repeated threats, Jackson considered the